Folie à Deux
by Alice Day
Summary: Brass and Ray find out that they have a secret passion in common, and decide to indulge. Mwahahahahaha...


Once again, blame beaujolais for dropping a plot bunny on me at the Jim Brass Fansite Forum. Apparently Mr. Guilfoyle once made a comment about certain...interests...of our favorite Homicide captain, and when I heard about it I had to write the story. Yeah, I know, I'm a sick puppy, moving on...

You know the drill — CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, we'd get to see this scene in Season Nine. Not that I'm hinting or anything.

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Folie à Deux  
by Alice Day

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Ray Langston heard a noise outside the break room and hurriedly slid the magazine under a case file. He looked up in time to see Jim Brass stalk into the room, heading straight for the coffee machine.

"Please tell me this is Greg's brew," the Homicide captain demanded.

The former pathologist casually moved the case file more squarely onto the magazine. "I saw him making it earlier," he confirmed. "Problems?"

"Same shit, different day." Brass poured a healthy slug of coffee into a cup. "And it's all named Conrad Ecklie."

Ray grimaced sympathetically. He never had to deal with Ecklie during his tenure as the Day shift supervisor, but he'd heard the stories. "What's he done now?"

"Get this -- that bald pissant wants me to do a freaking _goodwill tour_ of the local high schools," Brass growled as he walked to the table, gesturing with the cup. "Talk the gangbangers and the methheads out of being criminals, turn 'em into law-abiding citizens. Like I have time to be a police booster--"

The same gesture again, broader this time, and a wavelet of brown liquid slopped over the cup's brim, splattering over the case file. "Oh, shit," Brass said, immediately contrite. "I'm sorry -- I'll get that--"

Before Ray could stop him, he grabbed the case file, revealing the magazine underneath. The captain's thick eyebrows abruptly went north. "Wow," he murmured, studying the lusciously curved model on the cover. "Uh, Ray, is there something you're not telling me?"

Ray felt himself flush. He'd seen the magazine unexpectedly tucked behind a copy of **Big Bouncy Babes** at the 7-11 where he stopped for coffee. The next thing he knew, he was taking it to the cash register. _Well, I haven't read it for years -- I just wanted to see if it was still any good._ Of course, even the clerk had given him a weird look, and this was Vegas where weird was normal. "I just...the articles are good," he said weakly.

Brass snorted in amusement. "Yeah, I bet." He took a contemplative sip of coffee, studying the CSI over the rim. "You know, you're not the only one around here who's into that sort of thing," he said quietly.

Ray blinked in surprise as the captain's meaning sank in. "You...I mean, you...play--"

"Yeah. Started in college -- a girlfriend talked me into it, originally. Then I found out I liked it." He shrugged. "Now that Grissom's gone, I don't really talk about it with anyone here -- kinda blows the whole tough guy image, you know?"

"Yeah, I could see that." Ray suddenly felt tongue-tied, unsure of how to proceed. _I wonder if he'd be willing -- should I ask? But if he says no--_

Before he could say anything, Brass added in a patently casual tone, "So, look...I'm off tomorrow night. If you wanted to come over, maybe we could try some stuff."

Ray felt a relieved smile cross his face. "Um...I'd like that. But I'm warning you -- I'm really rusty."

"Don't worry about it -- we'll just fool around, see what happens. No pressure."

#

The next evening, Ray parked in front of the address Brass had written on a piece of notepad paper. The neat bungalow-style house with the ornamental hedge out front seemed appropriate for the captain. Grabbing the black case off the passenger seat, he went up to the house and knocked.

The door opened, and Ray blinked to see Jim Brass in a black t-shirt and sweats. _Well, he __**is**__ off duty -- did you think he wore suits around the house?_ "You found the place -- great," Brass said affably.

"Yes." He hefted the case. "And I come prepared."

Brass gave him an amused look. "I can see that. Come on in -- I'm all set up in the living room." He waved the taller man through. "Want a Scotch?"

"Please."

Amber liquor was dispensed into a glass and handed over, and Ray sank gratefully onto one of the kitchen chairs Brass had arranged for them. "Thanks -- this should help," he said, taking a healthy sip.

"I guess," Brass murmured dryly. "Seriously, Ray, relax -- I've seen crackheads who were calmer than you. I mean, if you think I'm gonna laugh at you or something--"

"No, that's not it. It's just... I know this is going to sound stupid," Ray confessed. "But I _am_ nervous. I haven't played with someone else for...well..." He looked at the wedding ring on his left hand, then clenched it. "A while."

Brass gave him a sympathetic smile. "I hear that. But it's like riding a bike -- you never really forget how to do it."

"Yeah. So." Taking a deep breath, Ray put the drink down and tugged at the latches on the case, flipping the lid back. The familiar shape lay under a piece of black velvet fabric, waiting for him to stroke it to life. Gently, he pulled back the fabric.

It really was beautiful. And it had brought him so much pleasure over the years. He only hoped he could do justice to it, and to Jim's trust in his skills.

Across from him, Brass lifted his own instrument, spreading his knees to accommodate it. "Gotta say, I missed this," he admitted.

Ray nodded, letting his fingers find the sweet spot where everything balanced. "Feels good," he agreed. "I have to admit, though, I never pegged you as a cello man."

The Homicide detective drew his bow across the strings, checking the pitch. "Well, hell, I never thought you played viola," he said mildly. "You _would_ play the Polish joke of the orchestra."

"Don't mock the viola," Ray warned. "Half the time I'm stuck playing violin music -- you try transposing alto to treble clef while you're sight-reading and see how much you like it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let's play."

#

Outside, a retired cocktail waitress walking her poodle paused, listening to the drifting strains of a Mozart sonata on the warm evening breeze.

"That's nice," she said approvingly, then glared at her dog. "Will you just take a leak already, Twinkles? Rock of Love Bus comes on in fifteen minutes."

With a wheezy bark, the poodle obeyed.

#

The next morning, Ray renewed his subscription to **Viola Monthly**. _Maybe we could even get a string quartet together -- I wonder if anyone on Grave plays violin..._

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**A/N:** Well, what did you **think** they were doing? Really, people...


End file.
